Ruby Unscripted

by Cindy Martinusen-Coloma

  “‘Anybody want a peanut?’” I say, along with several others in the group.

  Kaden’s eyes are the darkest brown, nearly black, and framed by lashes so dark it looks like natural eyeliner. There is an intensity in his gaze that makes me unable to think of any other movies.

  Sound Guy tells Kaden and me good-bye and heads to the door still quoting. “‘To the pain!’ ‘Inconceivable!’ ‘I admit it, you are better than I am. Then why are you smiling? Because I know something you don’t know.’”

  “Did you notice I was friendly this time?” Kaden asks.

  I remember that a week ago, I tried hating this guy. Part of me thinks I should try at least disliking him as my heart and head say, Danger, this one could be dangerous to us. He has a slight smile on the edges of his lips, lips that are, well, just perfect. Danger!

  “Oh, is this you being friendly?” I ignore my heart and my head, which is scary because they hardly ever agree with each other.

  “Ouch, that’s painful,” he says with his hand covering his heart, and then we both laugh. “If you want, I’ll give you my list of the top hundred best films.”

  “Sure, I’ll give you my e-mail.” And I can’t keep away my smile the entire time I write it out and hand it to him.

  He looks at his watch. “Oh, crap. I gotta run. I’ll write you soon.”

  “Bye, Kaden,” Blair says, coming up beside me as I watch him go.

  But not even Blair can dampen one of the most amazing and perhaps life-altering nights of my life so far.

  Austin picks me up and wants to hear about school, the group, and everything, though I’m having a hard time talking about it until I process it more in my head. And as we pull into the driveway, the house, when it comes into view, feels like it really is my house.

  We walk inside, and the smell of fajitas makes my mouth water.

  Mac pops his head out and says, “I made brownies.”

  Mom appears, holding a plate of Spanish rice, and tells me to get washed up.

  “It’s after nine o’clock,” I say.

  “Which is a normal time for dinner in many places around the world,” Mom says. “We’ve been waiting for you so we can eat together. Austin’s dinner inspired me.”

  And I smile at that because my family, even without Carson here, feels like my family. I hurry upstairs to drop off my bag and wash my hands in my little bathroom, and my room feels like my room.

  “Your dad called you back,” Mom says. “And Kate called too.”

  I didn’t realize my phone was on mute through the meeting and drive home.

  “Call them back after dinner though.”

  We sit in the living room this time. Austin recorded Heroes—I’d forgotten it was on tonight—which is our favorite family TV series, and even Mac is allowed to stay up late for it. It’s a rerun tonight, but still we gather around to watch. During commercials, Austin starts reciting what he’d put on a list of top one hundred movies.

  “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly; Unforgiven; and The Godfather.”

  “Finding Nemo,” Mac says. He still loves that movie and watches it at least once a month.

  The noise of conversation and the TV playing loudly surprises me like a quick jolt, reminding me of a time before, back when Dad would be my dad, the house would be in Cottonwood, Carson would be here, and we’d all be younger. The flashback is so vivid it stuns me. But I brush it away, watching it fade the way movies make the transformation from a historical event to the modern time.

  Everything keeps changing. Time isn’t slowing down for me to figure everything out . . . or even much of anything out. But it’s exciting too, these unexpected doors opening up, showing me more of myself and a clearer vision of what I’ve sensed for so long.

  I keep thinking about the film group. And I think of Kaden. I don’t even know him. But even though my heart and head are still saying, Beware, danger ahead, they have no intention of running away.

  chapter sixteen

  Kate is coming. Kate is coming.

  It’s all we talk about when we have time to talk over the next week. I still know very little about her new boyfriend, other than that he’s “hot” and it’s a huge secret. Kate hasn’t told me why it’s such a secret or what high school he attends.

  “I’ll tell you everything when I get there.”

  With homework, the Underground, and film group, I’m not online as much, and I’ve noticed a rapid decrease of texts from my friends in Cottonwood. It bothers me, and yet it doesn’t bother me since I’m busy enough to keep it from my thoughts. Frankie and I talk often. If Blair weren’t also his friend, he’d be the perfect girlfriend. Mom doesn’t find the humor in my saying that.

  Kaden isn’t at film group for two weeks in a row, and I’m not brave enough to ask about him. Once I saw him from a distance at school, and though we tried out the church he attends, he wasn’t there either. He never e-mailed me. I checked regularly until my anxiousness turned to anxiety and then to that post-jilted anger.

  We tried to warn you, my heart and head tell me. I tell myself that he’s not that cute, and that he’s strange anyway. Definitely not boyfriend or bridge-guy material.

  My film team meets on Friday nights in addition to the usual Thursdays. I was assigned to the team that Blair isn’t on, but it doesn’t appear that Kaden is part of it either, since no one mentions his absence. Rob is our team leader.

  There’s a lot to do, he tells me. I take notes to remember everything.

  Each team produces a film, and my team is partway through production. Of the two, one is chosen for the competition at the final Premiere Night of the school year. Everyone is getting stressed, and now my team has me—the ultra-novice. I get the script, and Rob explains that for now I’ll be the gopher . . . meaning I run errands or do whatever they need me to do. It’s starting at the bottom, but I don’t mind. Then he gives me a production schedule. We start shooting the same weekend Kate is coming.

  Her response to this: “Sounds like fun, maybe they’ll want me as an extra.”

  London now texts regularly, and she treated me to a few hours at her spa. We sat in some kind of herbal bath and then got pedicures. That’s a life I could get used to.

  The days go on like this until with surprising speed it’s the day of Kate’s arrival. And I realize, with much guilt, that I don’t really want her to come this weekend. I’m not ready to have her hang out with me and the film team. How do I blend Kate and the old life with what’s developing but not yet solid in this new life?

  I have to work for a few hours after school on Friday. My favorite old guys are there, and I take extra effort to check on their drinks.

  I’m organizing the small front refrigerators when I hear my name called. And there’s Kate standing at the counter, her smile so wide and adorable that I half expect a little ding sound and flash of light from her teeth. She’s cut her brown hair shorter than I’ve seen it. The front curls in at her chin.

  Kate.

  “Oh my gosh, don’t cry on me,” she says as I hurry over to embrace her.

  “I didn’t realize I missed you so much.”

  Seeing her is like hot cocoa after sledding, a hot bath after running in the rain, a campfire on a camping trip.

  “Well, it’s about time you started missing me.”

  “Oh, but I miss you every day,” I say and know it’s the truth. Then I notice Kate’s mom and hug her too.

  “Are you off work now? Ready to show us the town?”

  “I was just waiting for you.”

  “It doesn’t feel like Aunt Betty’s house anymore.” Kate flops her duffel bag on my bed and looks around the room.

  “I know.”

  “It’s totally you and your mom’s kind of place.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is. It feels like Europe or some little house in a foreign country, huh?”

  “Or at least what we think those places would feel like.” Kate laughs at that.

  “So what do you wa
nt to do?” I ask.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I made a list of things.”

  “Cool,” she says, glancing around for a place to sit.

  “We need a new spot for you.”

  At the two houses I’ve lived in since we were kids, we’ve always had a “Kate’s spot” in my room. In our last house, I had her sit in the beanbag against the wall and drew an outline of her. Then we painted and colored a Kate-on-the-beanbag mural in the spot, and so she’d sit there—the two Kates—whenever she came over. We had to paint over it when we moved out.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, and yet I know. What’s with the awkwardness?

  “Nothing,” she says with a touch of sadness hiding in her tone.

  “So what’s up with this older guy?”

  “He’s in college.”

  My mouth drops—I’m sort of bad about letting that happen instead of hiding my shock. “I thought he was a senior at a Redding school.”

  “That’s what most everyone believes.”

  “No way.”

  “Yeah,” she says with a giggle.

  “So what’s happening with you and him?” I have to keep my voice from sounding like my mom’s, which surprises me. Am I jealous, or sad that I don’t know these things already, or what the heck is wrong with me suddenly?

  “Not much, yet,” she says with a sly smile. “Wanna see some pics of him?”

  And we’re back. Whew, that was close.

  The film team is meeting at a Vietnamese restaurant. A nervous feeling comes over me as we arrive and I introduce Kate.

  Kate tries making everyone laugh and sounds too loud. Or hyper. Or immature. Something that annoys me.

  I don’t want to be annoyed by her. And suddenly I don’t want her to meet any more of my new friends.

  “I’ve never eaten Vietnamese,” she says with all the excitement of a kid having her first ice cream. “What’s Upseelongobee?” Then she laughs.

  It’s at this moment I see the stark contrast between Kate and the members of the film team. Kate appears years younger and childlike, or maybe childish. I wouldn’t have thought it, not ever.

  Cass sits on the other side of Kate, wearing her vintage clothing, leaning back in her chair, and sipping her cup of tea.

  Kate doesn’t even try adapting or hiding her lack of culture. It’s like she shouts out her ignorance with her actions and comments like “So where is Vietnam exactly? I mean, does anyone actually know, other than it’s near Japan or China?”

  Cass and Sound Guy glance at each other. I want to hide under the table.

  Olivia sits down and continues talking to me, though I wasn’t really paying attention because I was so worried about Kate. “We’ll go to the film festival in the fall. They have one here in Mill Valley. Every year they have directors and actors attend. It’s mainly indie films, but some bigger talent is present as well.”

  And then Kate starts asking a hundred and one questions. “So you actually enter real film festivals? Do you need more actresses?” This is said with a raise of her eyebrows. She then asks about what to order from the waitress and those around us, telling a story about trying Indian food and how that was a big mistake. “I think I spent two days in the bathroom, if you know what I mean.”

  When she launches into stories from our childhood, approaching the one when we went toilet-papering one of our teacher’s houses, I lean toward her and say, “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

  “I don’t have to go.”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  This gets a snicker out of someone at the table, and Kate looks confused.

  Once we’re inside, I hiss in frustration, “Kate!” I want to shake her.

  “What?” She is completely unaware of how she’s looking to the film team. Can’t she see how, well . . . how Cottonwood she’s acting?

  “We’re trying to have our meeting.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This is supposed to be a working meeting, not just a social time.”

  “Well, sorry. I was just trying to get to know your friends.”

  “They aren’t really my friends yet.”

  “So I’m making a bad impression, is that what you’re telling me?”

  “No.” Yes! You’re acting like . . . well, yourself, but like you would with friends you’ve known forever. Don’t you know that when you meet people, you don’t . . .

  Nothing sounds right in my own head, so how can I explain it to Kate?

  “I’m sorry, never mind. Let’s just go back. I guess what I meant was, it’s just we need to get to the work part of the meeting. I don’t want to be here very long—we need to go have our fun weekend.” But I know my voice isn’t very convincing.

  “Okay,” she says quietly. And quiet she is for the rest of the meeting.

  I can’t concentrate either, glancing toward Kate off and on. They assign me to be at the set on Sunday and give me a list of things to pick up and directions to the site. Other than that, I’m not part of the meeting. We call Mom to pick us up.

  Back at home, a tiredness comes over me, but we only have tonight and tomorrow together.

  “Unless you really want to see that movie, we could just stay here,” Kate suggests. She hasn’t said much since the restaurant. “We could watch a movie and get online. I miss James.”

  I’d forgotten about James—the guy I know nothing about except that he’s way too old for my friend. Tonight further emphasized that fact.

  “I’ll see if Mom will make some brownies, and we can stay in. There’s a Hitchcock film I’ve been wanting to watch.”

  “Gee, that sounds exciting,” she says in a dull voice.

  A phone beeps, and we both search our purses.

  “Oh, it’s Frankie,” I say when I find my phone.

  “Oh, I want to meet him. But don’t worry, I won’t talk much.”

  “Kate—I didn’t mean it like that.” How did I become the bad guy?

  FRANKIE: Hey, it's Friday night. A bunch of us are going into the city. How bout it?

  “Tell him to come over. Or come pick us up to do something.”

  ME: Oh, I can't. Out-of-town relatives are here.

  FRANKIE: Ugh, hate those.

  ME: Huh?

  FRANKIE: Huh again eh? Anyone who lives out of this town is usually BORING!

  ME: Have fun.

  FRANKIE: Yeah, you too girl.

  “He can’t come over. He’s going into the city with a bunch of people.” I can’t believe all the lies I’m suddenly flinging around. To my Marin best friend, as well as to my best friend of my whole life.

  Kate is quiet for a moment. “So he invited you to go too?”

  “Uh, yeah, sort of. But I thought we’d have more fun without being around a bunch of strangers. Plus, I have no idea what they’re doing—for all I know, they’re going gay bar hopping.”

  “Or you’re worried that I’d embarrass you again.”

  “What? You didn’t embarrass me.”

  She stares at me in that way that makes me squirm. “You can’t lie to me. I see right through you.”

  “It’s not like that, Kate. It’s just, I still don’t really fit here with—”

  “What are you talking about? You look totally comfortable with everyone.”

  “Well, you should know that means nothing. I can act like everything is cool when nothing is at all.”

  “Yeah, but just because I talk too much when I’m nervous, you could be more supportive. More protective even. You made me feel like an idiot.”

  “You wouldn’t stop talking. That group meets to work, to get things accomplished, not hear stories of us rafting down the creek on a giant piece of Styrofoam or toilet-papering people’s houses. You made us sound like country bumpkins.”

  “They liked my stories.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.” Kate stands up with her arms crossed, g
laring at me.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have.” How can she really blame this on me?

  She takes a step closer. “You’ve been down here less than a month—and you’ve changed.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Oh yes, you have.”

  “I think it’s you who changed.”

  “Whatever. You with your film club and new job and elite school—yeah, it’s me who’s changed. You have an entirely new life.”

  “You’re secretly dating a guy in college. Oh, that’s smart.”

  “Yeah, I thought it was pretty smart.”

  “You won’t think so when you get a disease or get pregnant.”

  “Yeah, because I’m sure I’ll have sex just because I like an older guy.”

  “You’ve never been very smart when it comes to guys.”

  “You’ve never thought I was very smart anyway. So why would I be smart with guys?”

  “I’ve never said that.”

  “You haven’t had to. And by the way, I’m glad you’re now an expert with men. You’ve had so many relationships. Which one of us is even dating? I don’t see your mature friends, or you for that matter, dating a guy in college.”

  “And what kind of college guy dates a sophomore in high school?”

  We don’t talk the rest of the night. Kate ends up playing Clue with Mac. He wants me to play too and offers me Miss Scarlet if I will. I tell him I don’t feel good. Then I turn off my phone and go to bed. Kate comes in later and uses my laptop to talk half the night to her college-aged boyfriend. I can only imagine what she’s telling him.

  The next morning Mom makes French toast and brings it to us in bed. And I wonder, with all her cooking lately, if Mom thinks food is the answer to the world’s problems.

  “Is this your coconut syrup?” Kate asks sheepishly.

  “Yes, it is.” Mom smiles.

  “Remember when we first tried coconut syrup at that little place in Maui?”

  Mom sits on the edge of my bed. “It was the morning before my wedding. I ate so much I worried I wouldn’t fit into my dress. But when we got home, I knew French toast would never be the same without coconut syrup.”